


swift and stolen

by deepnest



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games), Hollow Knight/Silksong, Hollow Knight: Silksong, Silksong
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hornet gets treated softly and kindly for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepnest/pseuds/deepnest
Summary: Under threat from another sleepless night, Hornet tries to keep her hands busy, but her mind refuses to follow suit. Loneliness is a difficult habit to break.
Relationships: Hornet/Lace (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 103





	swift and stolen

**Author's Note:**

> did you know it's actually incredibly difficult to get Hornet to cry? she really doesn't want to. anyway. also she doesn't know what a panic attack is.
> 
> this is... hypothetical post-Silksong, with some not-insignificant emotional development having taken place. Hornet and Lace are In A Relationship. Hornet is adjusting.

Hornet could not sleep.

It was always difficult. She understood sleep best as a swift, stolen thing. Something captured in small spaces where it could not writhe away, and no claws could reach her. 

Sometimes, even with Lace at her back, the walls were just too far apart. The window was too wide and open. Anything could have reached Hornet where she lay, wrapped in their fine sheets. She could not sleep.

She slipped out of bed. She picked up her needle, and pulled her cloak down from its hook on her way from the room. If she was going to be awake, then she would not sit idle.

Their little living area was dark and still. Hornet did as little as possible to disturb it, to listen for other movement. The prickling in her shell insisted on some presence, but she knew better, by now. It was only this blasted sleeplessness, giving her a vague sense of doom. Useless, warning of nothing.

But there was always that chance. Was it wise to dismiss her instincts like this? Perhaps she could scout the area - just take a walk, really. Just to have a brief look for herself. 

She did not leave. She stood in the center of the room, motionless, and held her breath. The darkness around her stayed just as still. There was no danger. Just her. Just Lace, asleep in the next room. This was safety, and she was being foolish.

She set her needle down on the edge of the table. She sat down on the chaise, so that her needle was opposite her, but stayed within easy reach.

She set her cloak down beside her. Pulled out a match. Lit a candle and set it back on the table, leaving the lamps covered. Then she sorted through her cloak pockets, removing anything that might need polish or sharpening. Once she had assessed this, she took out her whetstone and cleaning supplies. Any more elaborate repairs would wait. This, she did first so she had something in good condition, if she had to bundle it all and run. 

Which she would not need to do, she reminded herself. 

Lace was asleep in the next room. They were in a former palace, which was presently guarded. Everything was fine and everyone was safe. Including herself. She had the space to work, and she had the time, until she steadied herself enough to sleep. 

She picked up a pin, and set about running it over the whetstone, as quietly as possible, examining it for flaws under the candlelight. She took care to correct them, filled her mind with these details of metal and sharp edges. She folded the world in around her, making from it the close place she needed. 

Soon her all her pins and smallnails were complete, and she exchanged them for the spike traps Forge-Daughter had made her. Most were yet in good condition, thanks to the Daughter's skill and her own rigorous maintenance. But it was good that she had checked. 

She picked up one and held it away from herself, with her fingers placed to avoid the barbs as only she and its creator knew. One of them did not come free when she released them. The trap shuddered in her hand, and she heard the quiet _tchk_ of metal catching on itself. A jam. 

"For wyrm's sake," she muttered, then pulled her fangs tightly together, and glanced toward the bedroom door. No movement. No one calling out to her. The only voice to break the silence was her own. _For wyrm's sake._

She slid the right tool from her little bag of them, and set about fiddling with the trap. Twist, turn. Prying at a stuck piece. The lightest clink of metal on metal. 

_For wyrm's sake._

Her hand jolted as she tried to turn a screw too far. The work was done before she even realized it. She had lost her focus. 

_For wyrm's sake_. At home - no, in distant Hallownest, they whispered this.

 _Oh, beast's binding_ , they muttered in Pharloom. Her home, now. 

_Oh, Wyrm of Hallownest. Oh, Beast of Pharloom._

A chorus of soft, frustrated voices across kingdoms.

How strange it was sometimes. She had never known a land where her heritage was not so deeply cursed. 

She picked up the traps, and returned them to their proper place. She thought of returning to bed, as she tucked the last away; perhaps the weight behind her eyes was finally heavy enough to pull her down into sleep. But no. She should finish her task, now that she had started it. Proper maintenance was key. She did not want to have to replace her things again. It had been difficult enough to lose it all the first time. 

Difficult. But she had overcome it. She had back what she needed. All that she had lost-

Was gone. She was fine. She pulled out another trap, a metal jaw with serrated edges, and started to probe its joints.

Her hands were shaking. She set the trap down; it wasn't safe to handle like this. She had been more tired than she realized. She was so tired. Her eyes burned with it - but no, that wasn't all. The candlelight blurred, and the metal in her hands warped. She hunched over, and stuck her fingers through the eyes of her mask to stem the tears. This went poorly. Of course. 

So it wasn't enough to avoid idleness, to distract. She needed something to do. A walk, after all. The night air to clear her head. She snuffed the candle. She swung her cloak back on, and snatched up her needle.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she understood: this was a mistake. The outside was so far away. She could feel the whole of the Woven Palace tangling around her, every corridor and coat closet. Her tears broke her vision down to useless fog.

She ran. The stillness of the whole place was catching on her shell, clawing at her. The liquid in her chest refused to settle. If she didn't _move_ , she would _die._ So her pulse promised, as it had when the chase was on, when a husk or a Bellringer guard struck out at her. She ran. 

_Do not run in the palace._ So she'd been told, long ago, in a calm, imperious voice. _Such behavior does not suit a princess._

She ran. 

The torches were out. Even the bugs now responsible for cleaning had finished their tasks, and gone to bed. She wished she had taken a shift tonight, now. Too late for that. She ran, moving upward. Not toward the gardens like she'd thought, before she'd left their room. Toward the roof. Toward the clear and the cold. 

She let the trapdoor fall shut behind her, and stepped into the wind. The cold, just as she'd hoped for. Bitter. Bracing. And for all that she was exposed up here, at least she could see. She had, hypothetically, a clear view of her surroundings. 

In practice, she had to take several deep breaths, and wipe her eyes more deliberately with a handkerchief, before she could take in the distance before her. She could see far enough to tell that the land was peaceful. 

She was fine. She was safe. She'd just been having some trouble sleeping, but that was no excuse for _this_ \- this upset. 

She set the tip of her needle against the roof, and held it with her hands draped over the pommel. She braced herself on it. At least she had this. It had been hers from the start, come all this way with her. One thing she had not lost, and would not lose. She tightened her grip. 

As if she could say what the future held. As if such knowledge ever helped anyone. It was hers _now_. That was what mattered. That was what mattered. 

_That is what matters._

And this, true as it was, did not bring back anything else she missed. Her breath hitched, and her next exhale was a sob. She sank onto the stone, settled onto her ankles, tilting her needle down to pull it into her lap. She bent her head over it, and cried. There, as high as she could climb, in the bitter cold, in the wind that stung like her weapon, she cried.

Hornet's mother had told her. She thought it was her mother. Perhaps another beast, but she hoped it had been her mother, so long ago that she could not remember clearly: _there is no shame in tears. All warriors will lose someone._

No shame in tears. Hornet hoped that the same was true for sobbing. The gasps and hiccups and shuddering breaths torn from her throat felt wretched. 

Still, even her shivering shoulders froze when she heard the trapdoor hit the stone behind her. Her head whipped around, and she adjusted her grip on her needle. 

There was Lace, with a mobcap pulled over her antennae and a white dressing gown held shut under her throat. She seemed so delicate, even with her pin in her other hand. An ethereal creature. Hornet ached to touch her, to be sure that she wasn't, that she wouldn't dissolve into mist or memory. Hornet did not move.

Lace closed the trapdoor behind her, and stepped forward. "I thought I might find you up here. What's the matter?"

"I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you."

"Hmm. That isn't what I asked, is it? Try again, dear heart."

Hornet shook her head, and retrieved her handkerchief again. She pressed it through her mask to her eyes. "I was only taking a walk. I have had some trouble sleeping lately." 

"I know."

Hornet inclined her head. "I see. Have I been disturbing you? Forgive me."

"No, no." Lace sighed, and cupped her cheek in one hand. "I don't know that I've ever seen you sleep easily. Such a restless creature, my dear heart." 

Hornet nodded. She certainly couldn't argue with that assessment. Lace closed the distance between them, and settled onto her knees in front of Hornet. Lace set her pin down beside herself, resting first the tip and then the hilt before letting go. 

Hornet acknowledged the gesture, putting her needle aside, as well. 

Lace placed one hand below the eye of Hornet's mask. "Now. Tell me what's the matter." 

Hornet said, "I suppose I am only… more tired than I thought." 

Lace huffed. She eased closer, and slipped her hand underneath Hornet's to hold it. "Beloved, you're crying. And while you're allowed that, is there truly no other reason? If you're that exhausted, then I'll carry you before I let you walk back yourself." 

Hornet laughed softly, and shook her head. "I'm not so tired as that. It isn't as if I've fallen asleep right here."

Lace leaned in, and her eyes caught the moonlight. "And if you do?"

Hornet snorted. "Then I certainly would not stop you."

"You're tired enough," Lace insisted. "I know it's true. You left this out."

She offered out the trap Hornet had left behind. There was no useful amount of detail in the moonlight, beyond its lethality. Hornet would have to finish her inspection in the morning. Still, she took the trap back and held it. Angled it so that its dreadful teeth gleamed. 

Hornet mused, "A Hive design. Their queen's own knight trained me in its use."

"My," Lace said. There was a distinct edge of interest to her voice. An interest she shared with Hornet: all the ways metal could be shaped so that it would pierce and sever. "Trained by Vespa's own. No wonder your sting is so fierce."

"Yes… Yes." 

Hornet's narrowed. She turned to Lace, and lifted her hand urgently, catching it between both of her own. 

"What is it?" Lace lifted her other hand, to wrap around Hornet's knuckles.

Hornet said, "The Bellringers did their research, did they not? And I know your former fellows sought whatever their lot knew of me."

Lace's expression turned sour, but she said, "Indeed. What of it?"

Hornet asked, "What do you know of my mother?" 

Lace straightened, and her hands tightened around Hornet's. "Your mother? Herrah…"

Hornet leaned in at the sound of that name.

Lace's frown softened. "Not much more than her name, I'm afraid. The stories had little to say about Deepnest beyond its dangers, and that it was home to weavers. We knew her through you."

"Of course," Hornet murmured, but her voice rose as she went on. "What is there to know of my mother? A common beast who was damned as queen. And my father? Disgraced monarch of ruined Hallownest."

So many would have asked after the Pale King. Lace merely answered, "Tell me of them, Hornet."

"What is there to know?" She repeated, and laughed. A sharp, cruel sound, all for herself. "They're gone. All of them are gone." 

Lace freed her hand, and touched the side of Hornet's mask again. Hornet tensed, as if she'd touched shell.

Lace dropped her hand to Hornet's shoulder. "I wonder. Has anyone ever told you that you're allowed to miss them?"

"It does no good to dwell on the past."

"No, it does not. Neither does it do any good to bury it, unremembered," Lace said softly. "Graves exist for a reason." 

"They are gone, Lace. They're gone. Everyone-" She looked up suddenly, into Lace's eyes.

Lace leaned in, moved her hand down Hornet's back to draw her close. "I'm still here. I won't leave you."

Hornet's eyes, already shadowed, narrowed to the point of vanishing.

"Don't say that-" Hornet hissed, and then stopped herself, folding her hands tightly in her lap. She took a shaky breath. "I am sorry. But that is not a promise you can make."

"Who can say what will happen?" Lace conceded.

Hornet nodded. Lace reached out, touched the nape of her neck lightly. "I want to see your face. May I?"

"No - Yes, but I will do that." Hornet shivered, and bent her head away from the touch, but only long enough to remove her mask herself. 

"Thank you." Lace leaned in to kiss Hornet's forehead, and lingered to speak against her shell. "If you won't take my promise, accept my desire. I want to stay with you, Hornet."

Another kiss.

"I would never choose to leave. I'd choose you above any other cause. You, as you stand before me."

And a third.

"Or kneel. Or sit. I love you." 

Hornet laughed, although it came out slightly choked, stifled on yet more tears. "You, too."

At last, Hornet let the tension leave her body. She leaned into Lace, who folded her arms around Hornet. Lace felt as the first tremors of tears rocked her again, and Lace rocked her, too. Gently, back and forth, until Hornet's breathing finally deepened and slowed. 

And Hornet was a woman of her word, Lace knew. She scooped Hornet into her arms, and carried her, carefully cradled with her head against Lace's chest, all the way back to bed.


End file.
